


Seeing Eye to Eye

by Atol



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Arrows, Bows, Curses, Fantasy Adventure, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Knife Throwing, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Magic, Mistaken identities, Multi, Pining, Pirate AU, Secret Identities, Shooting, Skeppy is also BadAss, Sword Fighting, bad is a badass, cannons, crossbows, graphic descriptions of pain, its the Curses, no i dont care if that makes you uncomfortable, pirate stuff basically, realistic minecraft au, same foe the vurbity, skephalo is main ship here, the poly dreamteam is background ship, yes i use their real names in the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28344144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atol/pseuds/Atol
Summary: He cut an imposing figure, but Skeppy figured from his angle stuffed inside of a wooden chest that *anyone* looming to peer inside would be.He wore a captains hat, brown hair shaggy and swept to the side. One vivid green eye, the right one, stared at him in confusion. The other was covered by a black leather eye patch, just the barest hint of skin discolored peeking from behind it.All in all, Skeppy realized, he had managed to escape the pillagers, only to immediately be shoved off on a band of pirates.Before he could voice his opinion on the matter, the sun was ripped away as the lid of the chest was shut.Great.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap, JustVurb/Quackity, Skeppy/Badboyhalo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Entire thing is what happens when my brain grabs a prompt and proceeds to make a mountain out of a mole hill. Enjoy the pirate au fixation been shouldering for weeks.

Zak knew one day it was going to end. That nothing good ever lasted forever. That those sorts of things, the things that make you smile and forget that pain exists, that there is more to life than what happens to you, that there is joy in small little things. He knows that those things are fleeting at best.

He just didn't think it would end so soon. 

Darryl was gone, his bed empty and cold. Sheets rumpled, which was one of the many clues to Zak that something wasn't right. Darryl always made his bed before leaving, always waited for Zak to wake up no matter how long he slept in. He was always so unerringly neat about only particular things. The bed was one of them, or their chest of shared belongings. He would leave his boots in the middle of the floor, would accidentally kick up the corner of their rugs and leave it to trip Zak later, but Zak always forgave him for it.

It was them against the world after all. They had stuck together through the raid that wiped out their home village, the flames that had climbed desperately for the stars, the nightmares of burning and rotten smells and the groans of pain as they hid and ran together. They had stayed together through the wilderness and the cold damp darkness of caves and blades of grass that cut their cheeks when they tried to sleep. Had stuck together to find a new village that was willing to take the two scrawny pre-teens in tattered clothes in. 

They weren't much better off really, at least in the wilds they had had a certain level of freedom. In the village, Darryl set himself up as an apprentice to the local cartographer and scribe and spent painstakingly long hours with ink covering his hands and straining his eyes by the dim light of lanterns.

Zak had found that he was more an errand boy than anything. All his pent up energy went towards delivering letters, milk, goods and other small things that the villagers would push on him.

They only really saw each other when they woke up and when they went to bed and Zak couldn't help but want to grab Darryl by the hand and race off into the forest to live there instead. It had been miserable, but he had had Darryl all to himself.

But it looks like Darryl may have done that on his own.

It was in a hazy daze, that Zak went through their shared chest of supplies and realized that all of Darryl's things were gone. His clothes, his books, his worn stone axe. It was all gone. Every trace of him except the bed having vanished while he was asleep.

So caught up in the preconceived notion that Darryl had finally got sick of him, he didn't even notice the letter that was tangled up in his own beds sheets. He had sat up so fast, head spinning when he noticed the empty bed a scant few feet from his in the little one room home they shared, his ears buzzing too loud from the sound of his own rapid heartbeat to pick up the crinkling of paper as he had thrown the covers back and scrambled upright to look for any trace of his best friend.

No, the letter explaining to Zak where Darryl was would remain buried for weeks.

It would go unnoticed because Zak would crawl into Darryl's bed each night, cover his head with the blankets and try not to cry as the scent of him faded more and more as the days passed.

The days blended together. He would get up and immediately want to roll over and lose himself in whatever soft whisping dream of Darryl that was slipping away from him as the sun beat down on him through the window.

He would lay in bed, fingers running over the thread bare blankets and stare at the ceiling, looking but not seeing as he tried to capture his thoughts.

He would slowly cart goods from one place to the next and ignore the pitying looks of the villagers.

He would sometimes eat. Sometimes not. It was hard to chew and swallow when everything tasted like dust. 

He stopped laughing. Stopped pranking and joking and just. Existed. Waited.

One day the sun didn't wake him. His eyes snapped open under the watchful eye of a full moon and something. Something made him go over to his own abandoned bed. Untouched since the beginning. Something had him crawl into it and shuffle to get comfortable, the planes and surfaces of it foreign now. 

And that is when he felt a tickle against his leg, a crinkle unmistakable as anything other than paper.

Reaching down, he pulled it up, ripping it slightly. Laying it out on his lap he smoothed the crumbled letter out and read it, once then twice then thrice, a wild smile warping his face and a jittery excitement sinking into his skin.

-Zak,

Don't worry, nothing bad! I am going to the next village over and it should be about a months travel. I've heard this village is better off because it has a port to the sea, and I'm going to bring my old things with me to see what I can trade for them.

I know you don't like our village. If I'm being honest, I don't like it much either. So I'm hoping I can find a place and come back to you with good news and a new beginning for us!

I won't be long,

Lo- And this part looked like it had been rubbed out and made the paper weak.

Yours,   
Darryl

His mind raced as he tried to recall how much time had passed. Maybe three weeks? He would be able to go to the local scribe and ask, it had felt like ages but he knew he was probably just being dramatic.

His own laugh startled him out of his thoughts. 

He was so _stupid_ to think Darryl would just up and abandon him. 

Shaking his head he looked down at the letter, fingers tracing the cut off word that he felt like he knew. 

Carefully folding it up into a proper square he got out of bed and tucked it into their chest, next to his own rumpled pile of belongings still sat there.

He was too giddy to sleep, so he cleaned. In the past few weeks he had let the house get more and more messy, random bits and bobs all over the place, dust and dirt and grime tracked in on the bottom of his boots haphazardly kicked to one side of the entryway. 

"Oh my god- Darryl will murder me if he sees this." He said to himself as he lit a lantern and got to work.

He didn't particularly like cleaning, but the thought of Darryl finding out how utterly mopey and morose he had got, that he hadn't seen the letter right away and immediately just let _their_ house go to shit, made him throw his all into fixing it.

The next day the villagers watched with confused smiles as Zak went right back to being himself. Smiling, laughing almost too loud, joking and practically skipping as he made his way to the Library.

Library may have been a bit of an overstatement. It was one woman's home, and living room full of all the books the village collectively owned, and two desks shoved far to the back of the study. 

She at least had a calendar and pointed to the day that Darryl last came in. It had been closer to three and a half weeks, and Zak's skin felt like it was going to peel off his body and run away, he was so excited about the prospect of his best friend's return.

He had four days, including this one and he was going to make the welcome back a good one.

It wasn't too hard to put his plan into action. 

The local butcher doubled for most animal and farm produce. He had enough small flecks of iron and gold to trade for a handful of eggs and a bucket of milk, as well as some sugar and flour. The furnace back at home needed to be mucked out badly, but he could only think how Darryl's eyes would shine with happiness if he could pull this off so he set to work, tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

It was almost like meditating, the steady calm work of scrapping out blacked soot and grime and carefully, slowly revealing the soft grey color of the stone as he cleaned the furnace

He would wait until the day that would mark one full month. Logically he knew that there would likely be a day or two to give or take. But Darryl was pretty punctual...

So in a manic state of excitement mixed with stress he made the beds, swept the floor, washed the windows, and tried not to watch the cake bake and just wait.

It was the waiting that got to him. Before he had just let himself drift, because there was nothing to look forward to no carrot dangling from the stick to get him moving. 

Now? Now he wanted nothing more to crash across the finish line and for the time to just speed up already. He missed his best friend too much, needed to see him so much it ached.

There were a few moments, when there was no other chores to do, nothing to distract him from the quiet of the room, where he wanted to be angry. 

A note was not really a satisfactory way to warn him. Sure they had talked about getting out of town, of adventuring or even just moving but nothing concrete, nothing set in stone. They had made no real plans, just whispered hopes in the dead of night to one another. 

So while he wanted to be mad he found he couldn't. The relief was too heavy on his skin to let the anger rise up. The joy at his expected return is too strong to let any negativity infiltrate. 

Darryl was coming home, and he couldn't possibly be mad about that. He just didn't have it in him.

So he sat, door wide open, propped open with a chunk of cobblestone and sat on the edge of his seat at the small table laid out with the cake and a few simple plates he had managed to trade for for his old boots with a neighbor.

The sun was high in the sky and it was a pleasant day, the sky a cheerful blue, smeared with fluffy white clouds. It was idyllic to an almost absurd degree. Village kids were running around, laughing and playing with the lone old creaking iron construct that petered around on its own time. 

Zak could see it all from his spot next to the open door and yet he did not spot Darryl. 

He didn't spot him when the sun started to set.

He didn't spot him when the villagers lit their lanterns, nor when they blew them out one by one. 

There was no sign of him as the night sky winked with stars and the moon hung its head as it watched Zak get up and softly close the door.

So what. He was just a day late. Maybe he's got too much stuff that he traded for. Maybe he saw a flower on the walk back. Whatever. He will come back, maybe tomorrow. The cake would stay good enough for a few days at least.

He'd be there soon. That's all that mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad's POV lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im gunna always try to post opposing POVs together lol

He woke before the sun could shine against his eyelids like usual, waking him with warmth and light. It's why he had his bed where he did, if he was willing to be honest. It was the easiest way to always be up before Zak, to have those carefully hoarded moments to himself where he would watch the other sleep and gather his wits for the day ahead. 

But in the morning stillness, before Zak was awake in the silent calm air, he would memorize the planes of his friend's face and wish for him to wake, so he could hear his voice again. To be swept up in the energy that always radiated off of him as he raced around.

He was like the sun, every smile every laugh warmed Darryl from the inside out, but it hurt to look for too long, almost burnt him from the inside out until he felt hollow, with how much he wanted to reach out to him. 

Sometimes he felt like he was only just barely keeping up. Always a half step too slow to match Zak's pace, to be worth keeping around. 

That was part of the inspiration for this trip he had planned, been planning for a few weeks now. Swinging his legs out of bed, he didn't even bother to make the bed behind him like he usually would. He was too excited at the prospect of his planning coming to fruition. He gathered his things in the rucksack he had, and set the note he had written on Zak's chest, figuring he would read it when he finally woke up. 

Zak probably wouldn't even really notice his absence. They didn't see each other much, only early in the morning and in the dead of night, what with him being locked up with the books for his apprenticeship and Skeppy racing all over town and interacting with what felt like everyone but Darryl. 

Pushing that less than kind frame of thought out of mind Darryl smiled down at Zak's sleeping form and let his well controlled impulses get the best of him for just a second.

Ducking down he pressed a kiss to Zak's forehead and then immediately turned tail and left, closing the door softly behind him so as to not wake up his friend. 

He had quite the walk ahead of him.

He had only brought a bed roll with him, and thanked all the stars that each time he used it it was just barely comfortable enough to work. The weather was holding, staying calm, just warm enough to be a comfortable temperature, even as the sun beat down on his shoulders and made his hair hot to the touch.

Each time he saw a blue flower, or a clump of peonies, or really anything that caught his eye for more than a moment, he thought of Zak. How he wanted to see him, or hear his voice, or even reach out for a rare hug. 

Darryl wasn't sure if it was because he had been on his own for the week's travel so far and was getting close to the port town, but he was lonely in a deep aching sort of way. He wanted to be close to Zak again and couldn't help but wonder what his friend was up to. If he missed him back just as much. 

He doubted so, he was pretty sure that Zak didn't….that he couldn't...His feelings for Zak were maybe a little bit more than he could ever expect to have returned and that was okay. Totally fine. It wasn't something that had him rubbing away the ache under his chest, no.

Not him.

Shaking himself out of it he set up camp for what he hoped was the last time. If his calculations were right he only had another half day's walk and he would arrive at the port and he could sleep in an actual bed, if he could afford the inn.

Then he would spend some time trading, sniffing out any chances of housing, and do what he could to establish a claim before heading back.

For now he was laid out on the ground, patches of longer grass swaying gently around him, soothing sounds of rustling leaves and crickets. 

He couldn't enjoy it much, too lost in his own head wondering what Zak was doing. If he was in bed by now, or if he was possibly up at a village gathering. Despite the sky above him laid heavy with twinkling stars and the peaceful nature around him, Darryl wanted nothing so much as to be back home.

Specifically with Zak. 

He thinks wistfully not for the first time, that he should have just brought Zak with him, but he knew the other hated to travel, and that someone had to stay at the house or else it would fall into disarray. Besides, Darryl sort of wanted it to be like a surprise, a present for the other boy. He wanted to come back and see Zak smile at him wildly like he used to when they lived in the forests. 

Just the two of them.

He finally found himself drifting off to sleep, his last thought being of a dark room and late night whispers and tanned hands in a sunrise painted room.

The morning brought a bright light that eased him to the land of the living. As he packed up his bedroll he tried to recall his dream but he couldn't. All he knew is that he had woken up in a very good mood.

He had a pep in his step, a whistle at his teeth the entire time he packed, unaware of eyes from the shadows that watched him, sizing him up.

Blissfully ignorant of his danger, Darryl set off at a quick pace to the port town, because the sooner he was done here the sooner he could get back to Zak.

If only it was that simple.

The town was larger by far than he had imagined. Easily ten or so times bigger and busier than his own village, there was always a crowd no matter where he went. People talking and laughing and arguing all around him, people hawking their wares, it was chaos. 

And ever as surrounded by people as he was, Darryl felt a pang of loneliness when he went to make a remark and realized that Zak wasn't there to hear it.

So with a slight hunch to his shoulders, he made his way through the marketplace, eyes catching on every new sight and shiny knick knack on display.

He watched, and it wasn't long until he was confident in his ability to sell his own things. There was a pawn stall that he had just watched purchase a pile of clothes in much worse disarray than his own satchel's worth of goods.

A good twenty minutes of haggling and his face feeling a little warm from arguing so much with the man behind the stall and he was able to walk away with seven emeralds in his pocket.

He felt nervous, he had never even seen an emerald in person before, the village he and Zak lived in mostly bartered directly and traded, occasionally nuggets of iron, even more rarely ones of gold, but never emeralds or diamonds.

The town was massive, and more complicated than he had thought. He found himself passing the same stalls again and again, going in circles as he got lost in the maze that were the streets and alleyways of the place. And so many people, tall, short, small, large. Some with kind smiles, fearsome scowls, tattoos, piercings, strange hairstyles, scars, you name it, Darryl saw it.

He was grinning like an idiot, it was all so amazing, so different from their home village. He knew in his heart Zak would thrive here, as long as he kept him out of trouble.

As he passes by a stall again, the sun glints off of something shining and blue, something that drew him immediately for a closer look.

It was a set of matching bracelets, dyed leather straps braided together.

One bracelet with various shades of brilliant blues for the straps, and a deep blood red smooth gem bead secured to sit on the top of the wrist when worn.

It's counterpart was done up in multiple shades of vivid reds, and a bright blue faceted bead was secured to match the other.

He needed them, more than anything he had ever wanted.

"How much?" He asked, then laughed softly at the quizzical look the woman behind the counter gave him, "Sorry, I meant for the bracelets, right here?"

"Three emeralds." She said, watching his hands.

"For both?" He asked hopefully.

"Each." Was the disappointing reply.

“....I’ll take them.” He says, after looking at them for a moment longer. 

He couldn’t help it. He could only think of Zak, as the woman got up and packaged them in a bundle of worn paper and twine to keep them safe. He had seen them and immediately his head had been filled with images of their hands, close enough to touch, wearing them and he had been too willing to part with his riches for the chance of it being a reality. 

An emerald was still quite a lot, he reasoned with himself as he carefully tucked the bracelets into his pack. Adjusting his bag properly onto his back again, he thanked her quickly and made his way back towards where the crowds thinned a bit, where signs of inns and residents were more plentiful. 

Even as the sun started to hang low in the sky, his thoughts were miles and miles away back at home as he chatted with an inn owner, found out what sort of arrangements would be needed for housing. Apparently there was an older section of the town that was in slight disarray, and if you promised to patch it up and restore it and maintain it it was free to live in. Most people didn’t bother with it because it was easier to just stay at the inns and live just outside of the town in the surrounding forests, but the idea intrigued him. He was confident in his and Zak’s abilities to work together, and maybe really make something amazing. 

So he exchanged his emerald for ingots of gold, and got a map of the town itself as well as a meal. 

It was getting darker, almost too dark to make it worth it to travel, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted, no he needed, to get back to Zak. 

He missed him a little too much to even consider staying the night. He would at most get a few hours in of travel before having to settle down for the night, but it was a few hours sooner than if he waited in town. So despite the chill of the night air, he set off and slowly but surely the faint glow of the town’s lanterns disappeared behind him. 

He resists the urge to just run, the bars in his pack heavy on his back. It would only serve to make him sleep in if he pushed himself too hard, so despite the itch in his skin to push himself he didn’t. Instead he smiled up at the stars in the sky and thought about how excited he was that he was headed back. That he would make this trip again, but with Zak this time instead. 

His camp was minimal, his bedroll laid out and his pack hugged close to his chest as he tried to slip into sleep. His senses were on high alert, but he couldn’t figure out why. Something had him sitting up, a rustle in the grass nearby, before he felt a blow on the back of his head, pain striking him before he slumped over, stars blotted out by the inky blackness of unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zak's having a rough go of it lolololol

He waits. And waits. And waits.

The cake goes stale, and he chucks it into the furnace as fuel, it felt like a log at that point anyway. Dust settles on the surfaces of the house, cloak it in a thin layer of grime that he can't bring himself to care about. The letter is soft to the touch and worn at this point, he had folded and unfolded it so many times, fingers rubbing over the ink gently before tucking it away in the chest for safe keeping. The words written to him the only thing keeping him afloat.

He tries to keep himself busy, doesn't want to fall to the same wallowing he had before, still believes that Darryl was just waylaid by some shiny thing for a little longer than expected. He wants to be stronger, than he knows himself to be, be better than he knows himself to be. To be worthy of Darryl coming home to.

He takes up more jobs around the village. Practices with the elderly guard, Maron, and learns a touch more self defence because somewhere in the back of his mind, he was preparing to be on his own. To have to survive on his own without backup. Without Darryl.

He finds out that he's handy with a sword, that despite not being stronger than the old guard, he is faster, more flexible, nimble even. And even though it doesn't close the gaping hole he feels in his chest he feels a sense of accomplishment as he gets better and better at it. Feels a sense of pride in his new found skill. 

He wants to show Darryl so bad.

Each day, his eyes dim, and his spine straightens. 

Everyday he finishes his work, his training and chores, and watches his open doorway until the night sky is the only thing he sees. Eyes always locked on the horizon, praying for a figure to appear where there is nothing.

He spends his mornings sitting on the stairs leading up to his doorstep, watching the sunrise and trying not to think too hard, to just wait and not wonder. He's found it's easier that way. To wait as if he isn't waiting on something. To exist and hope to be surprised, instead of letting himself hope and be disappointed.

So focused, he was being on not hoping, that he did not notice the approach of his mentor, the old guard.

"Kid." Zak jerks out of his thoughts and looks up, spotting the familiar man.

"Oh! Hey, what's up?" He asks, brushing the dust off of his pants as he stands up.

"You've got to stop putting your life on hold." Maron says gruffly, "If he hasn't came back yet, it's likely he isn't going to come back at all."

Zak grits his teeth and shakes his head, feeling the ugly dark feeling coil in his chest around his heart.

"You're wrong, he wouldn't- Darryl would never-" He protests.

"How long has it been now? Two months? Three? Kid- you've got to live your life-" Maron tries, but is cut off by Zak, who is glaring straight through him.

"I don't care how long it has been. I'll wait until the day I die if I have to, you don't know Darryl like I do." He bit out, faltering under the heavy sad gaze of the older man, "He'd...he'd never…"

"Kid...even if you're right. Even if he is out there and and not still gone on purpose, I doubt he'd want you sitting at home wasting away every day. You have to keep going, without him."

Zak sat back down heavily on his steps and hung his head. He was so tired of waiting. Of getting his hopes up only for them to shatter each night when he went to bed in an empty house.

"What if I don't know how? If I don't want to?" He says, voice shaking with unshed tears.

"That is something only you can really answer. It's not something you should look for in others, look within yourself." The man says, before clapping a hand to Zak's shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. "I expect to see you tomorrow for training. I think we can move on to more advanced forms."

Zak just smiles weakly up at the man and nods before slipping back inside of his house.

It was a shell of a home. The warmth, the feeling of safety, the contentment, it was gone. It was cold like the sheets on Darryl's bed. Stark in the daylight that always used to halo Darryl just before he woke, on the rare occasions that Zak woke up first.

He never should have taken those moment for granted.

It was all wrong. The air still smelled of sticky sickly sweet frosting burnt in the furnace. He hated it. He hated the feelings boiling in his chest, bubbling fragments of pain popping in an unending stream as he scrambled to the chest and took out the letter. 

Read it again, fingers rubbing over the worn parchment, searching for some sort of sign, some sort of hidden message that explained what was happening. Why Darryl was still missing.

His tears soak into the paper and the sight of it only makes him sob harder, throwing the letter into the chest and slamming the lid as he stumbles away from it.

It hurts, it hurts so much and he just wants it to stop. He slams his fist into the wall closest to him, and there is a sickly wet crack and burning in his knuckles that feels almost like pain, but good. Distracting. His mind clears only enough to register that he was pulled from his inner turmoil by the physical pain before he punched the wall again. Harder this time. He laughs through his tears as he kicks and punches the wall, before picking up his plates and chucking them, the shattering of the glazed clay so satisfying that he does it until he runs out of plates, moves onto the table and topples thay over. 

It hits him, as he struggles to breathe, and collapses to his knees amidst the rubble of his house, that Darryl was gone. 

He wasn't coming back.

And yet the brief flare of red hot anger left, blown out by his realization and it only left him cold and numb. 

He's not sure how long exactly, he spends sitting there as the light through his windows shifts and travels across the room. His legs shake when he finally manages to pull himself to his feet. It's only a few wobbly steps to his bed, but he falls down on the mattress as if he had run for days all the same.

He can hear some of the village kids, and distantly realizes that their schooling time had already ended. Snatches of conversation and hushed words of their caretakers float through his open window.

"Do you think he's home right now?"

"It's quiet and dark. I don't think so."

"He hasn't been the same, I wish there was something we could do."

"And do what? _Magically_ find out where the scribe went?"

"Don't say such things so loud. You know the only one with any power like that are deep in the woods or….the grotto."

"You act as if they can hear us from here."

"You don't know that they _can't_."

"The number of emeralds you would need to give me to make me willing to speak to…. _the one of the grotto_ is uncountable."

"Stop talking like that. What if they can hear you? You know…" 

The voices drifted off and became unintelligible as the caretakers walked off.

But the words they had spoken rang around in Zak's head, battering up against his injured emotions.

"The sea witch…" he murmured to himself.

An idea blooms in his mind and his heart races in his chest as he formulates a plan.


End file.
